Dinner Ritual
by Laeta
Summary: Spoiler: minor Burden of Proof. An honest comment from her daughter brings Catherine and her best friend to an inevitable conclusion. [GC]


Disclaimer: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I can't help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.  
  
Author's Note: This is for b8kworm. Thank you for watching CSI in the first place. Thank you for getting me hooked. You know that I'll make you sorry for it. This includes the storyline from "Roses" by RaajmdTMP. I hope you don't mind. That story is one of my favorites. I've screwed the timeline a bit, but please let me get away with it. A big, huge thanks to Ann for reviewing. Now, go upload your story!  
  
Pairing: Catherine/Gil. There's no other for me. ::grins::  
  
Spoiler: minor from "Burden Of Proof".  
  
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Title: Dinner Ritual  
  
Author: Laeta E-mail: ladylaeta@yahoo.com  
  
Over the years, they formed a habit of eating dinner at Grissom's townhouse when the work week was completely over. It was a way to unwind. His house was perpetually blanketed by a calming quiet that did wonders to allow the circulating epinephrine to leave their systems.  
  
She still remembered how this little ritual first started. Today, it is a bit difficult to imagine the two of them were once the youngest and most inexperienced CSIs on the team, but they were that uncountable years ago. They had found an odd sort of camaraderie in each other. It felt natural to seek each other's company when the weekend came crawling. This was a heady hiatus from the stresses of work and the stress of life, be it a family or the lack of.  
  
And so, the occasional dinner turned into a weekly affair. Her husband had never understood its necessity. She empathized; she did not entirely know either, and it frightened her. Partially to keep her marriage and partially to figure it out herself, she stopped coming around and realized that she missed the hours spent in his company, socially.  
  
He never commented on the lack of her absence, but somehow she knew that he missed her. He would work longer on those nights, always seemed tense. The man she first met had disappeared; in its place was an outwardly shy, socially inept enigma. She could hardly reconcile him with the Gil she knew. She knew him to be an intellectual, very adept at verbal debates, and extremely passionate in every thing he did.  
  
Their colleagues never knew the difference. They thought he was devoid of every emotion, but every so often, she would see Gil's passionate side peek out. Sometimes, when the job annoyed his vast wells of patience, she would see him break and throw things: coffee pots, mugs, anything glass; in rare instances, chairs and once, he systematically tore apart a junked car. Frequently, she would see the familiar intense look of pleasure in his eyes when he was pursuing a case that stimulated his intellect and maybe, just maybe, let him forget that he had a life he ought to be living.  
  
However, never once did she experience the eloquence of his speaking ability; rather, he chose to close himself off to the world and display a general sort of ineptness with people. She was the exception; he never concealed anything from her. He just did not share his thoughts aloud with her; she missed listening to him speak.  
  
He tore her, finally, ex-husband off of her once when Eddie came to the lab and got out of hand. She never paused to think about the sheer physical aspect of Gil. Eddie was a difficult guy to push around, in any sense, enough said. Now, she saw how at odds Gil was with himself: he was so gentle that he was awkward with his physicality.  
  
Gradually, she found ways and reasons to periodically resume their dinner ritual. It was not as though the friendship was gone; it had changed and she wanted it back the way it once was. Yet, she felt hesitant. He seemed uncomfortable around her.  
  
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Of course, how was she to know that he had fallen in love with her over the course of their friendship? During those dinners at the beginning of their friendship, he had shared so many things with her. He felt absolutely free with her. The barriers every person erects to protect his/her heart fell completely away in her presence. In moments when he was utterly honest with himself, he knew that he liked having all of her attention focused on him.  
  
He could even remember the instant when he had fallen in love with his best friend. She was sitting on a stool in his kitchen. It was raining outside so she was drying her hair with a towel as she watched him cook. It occurred to him that she was letting him see her without makeup and without her hair perfectly done. They had been debating the finer points of English authors versus American authors; he forgot the thread of the conversation. In fact, he forgot everything but the sound of her voice and laughter and the happy, relaxed, and amused glint in her eye as she celebrated her victory. She had never been more beautiful to him.  
  
They worked together so well that he could momentarily ignore his feelings for her. Then he had to watch as she married another man. Again, in moments when he was utterly honest, he admitted he was jealous, but he only wanted her to happiness. If she found that in Eddie, who was he to argue? He would content himself with her friendship; he would never admit that he felt as though he had lost his soul.  
  
He tried dating; Teri had reminded him of Catherine in so many ways, but not in those little ways that matter most. So, he gave up and nurtured his heart, knowing that she was taken and lost to him.  
  
And now, she was sitting here in his kitchen on that same damn stool lecturing him about being burned. If only she knew the full extend of it. To make things worse, she seemed to imply that he and Sara had feelings for each other. How is that possible when his heart belonged to the stunning woman in front of him?  
  
He felt trapped. He wanted the conversation over. He wanted their friendship as it once was, before her marriage. He felt compelled to air his feelings, to let them breathe. He craved her companionship. He hated hiding a part of himself, but after so long, it was beginning to become natural to him, like a second skin.  
  
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She gazed at him thoughtfully. It was a rare time when she could observe him without guilt. He seemed so lost in thought. What she would give to be privy to them. Once upon a time, he would have told her without a second thought.  
  
Still, she could not complain since he looked more relaxed than he had been lately. He seemed to be completely at ease in her presence, but with Gil one never knows.  
  
There was just one question nagging her in the back of her mind. When he called to order the plant for Sara, was it the same florist shop? She heard him flip his phone book open to retrieve the number; that did not mean anything, did it?  
  
She remembered how he used to spontaneously send flowers to her. In a profession where death and decay seeped through every corner, flora was a statement that life was indeed alive. The flowers were a constant reminder to the depth of brilliance in life. Like Gil himself, she missed the vibrancy of the heartfelt gifts. He never needed a reason; she would come to work and find a delivery waiting for her. Like Gil's now rare moments of his true self surfacing at work, the deliveries were always different. Many times it was a single Sterling Rose; others it was a huge bouquet of fragrant summer flowers; on certain special occasions, she would find amazing exotic flowers; but mainly, when there was no reason, he would simply send her a vase filled with roses.  
  
She was flipping through his phone book one night, many years ago and found the number of the florist shop. When he had turned to see her browsing through the book, he had this incredible look to chagrin on his face. She thought that he was the most wonderful man she had ever met. She had jumped off the stool and embraced him for his thoughtfulness; every now and then it was nice to know that somebody cared. Even when she had no idea who was sending her multitudes of flora.  
  
The last delivery she had received from him was for Lindsey's birth. He sent her gorgeous Roses Of Sharon. When they had outgrown the pot, she had planted them in her backyard. They were thriving there and she was reminded constantly of the caring man who sent them to her. Lindsey was proud of those plants since she considered them "her". It was a testament to her health and spirit when the flowers were out in full bloom.  
  
Still, she wondered what was going through Gil's mind. A few days ago, he had sent her roses. Of course, she had not needed to read the card to know they were from him. The rest of the team was undeniably curious as to the sender, but she wanted to keep the secret to herself. After all, it had been over five years since she had flowers.  
  
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Eventually, they fell back into the pattern of sharing dinner at Grissom's place at the end of the week. As it did years ago, they both found it de- stressed them from work. They were comfortable and relaxed around each other; in unguarded times, they seemed closer than mere colleagues or friends. There were moments at work when they actually fell back into their former selves and debated some inane point. The other CSIs would watch and wonder at the conversation. Perhaps other things were actually being said. Nobody voiced any comments; Grissom had never seemed so happy and content. In fact, he was a better guy to be around.  
  
At some point, neither Grissom not Catherine needed to offer an invitation for dinner. Both just assumed she would show up at his place. Neither hided their dinner rendezvous but neither volunteered the information.  
  
That is, until, one night when her car was in the shop and she grabbed a ride with Grissom. Ever the observant one, Warrick had noted that Grissom did not drive in the direction of Catherine's house.  
  
The next week, she asked Warrick to drive her into work. Once again, she left with Grissom. Confronting her was not an option. However Warrick could see the differences in Grissom. Being a man who was connected with his so-called feminine side, he could spot a man in love when he saw one. He also could see that Catherine was blissfully oblivious. Maybe he could help to speed up the process, force Grissom to open his heart. Knowing the human psyche, Warrick knew that not telling Catherine would eventually harm Grissom so it would try to expunge it's secret sooner or later. After all, it was least he could do for the man since Grissom had put his faith in him when Warrick had none.  
  
The following week, Warrick nonchalantly asked Catherine if she wanted a ride the next day. Surprised, she looked into Warrick's shrewd and knowing eyes. Accepting, she started the wait for the questions.  
  
Catherine told Grissom about Warrick's offer and he joined her, anticipating and waiting for the questions. They never came. Warrick merely looked at Grissom and said, "Wherever we find happiness, we should hold on to it."  
  
Quietly, they began a routine. She would ride in with Warrick and leave with Grissom. They would go to his house and unwind. When the hour grew late, Grissom would drive her home, visit with Lindsey, and look over the Roses of Sharon.  
  
The routine rarely altered, but when it did, it always included Lindsey. Sometimes, Grissom would hang around and spoil the little girl. Spontaneously, he would persuade Catherine to go to a carnival, the movie theater, or to a play for fun under the pretense of Lindsey's enjoyment. Sometimes he felt pangs of guilt for misleading her when his policy was to always adhere to the truth, but the delight in her eyes never failed to compensate. However, truth be told, he also enjoyed spoiling Lindsey but he could not help it if Catherine was the priority in his life.  
  
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Grissom resumed the preparations for dinner. Uncharacteristically, his mind repeatedly decided to wander; thankfully Catherine was quiet and he was not required to uphold a conversation. He tried for normality, which did not work. What was normal when it came to him anyway?  
  
He had always savored the moments he spent with Catherine. Who could not respect her intelligence and wit? There was no question that she was beautiful and simply one-of-a-kind.  
  
When he lay in his bed waiting for sleep to arrive, he would rerun the shift in his mind. Every interaction he had with Catherine would catalogue itself into his memory to be recalled when he invariably would begin to miss her. Usually, he could not fall asleep until he was sure that every incident was remembered and never to be forgotten. Nowadays, after so long, this process was one habit he probably would never lose for the rest of his natural life.  
  
This week had been an unusually long and trying few days. Against his rarely used personal judgment, he paired himself with the subject of his dreams for a case that needed several double shifts to piece together. In a fit of inspiration on both their parts, they concocted several very ludicrous scenarios and then scoffed at themselves. They had laughed at their ideas for so long that the younger CSIs thought they had lost their minds. Oddly enough, that had been key they were missing to solve the case.  
  
Grissom had spent the larger part of his off-shift time replaying that moment of sheer giddiness. It was for moments like that for which he lived. He could clearly see the similarities of the inner workings of their minds; he and Catherine were total opposites with moments of pure parallelisms.  
  
Offhandedly, he wondered when Catherine would call him on his reserve. Although she was rarely bothered by silence, he prided himself in knowing that his best friend did not prefer one-sided diatribes. That was a quirk Grissom did often, apparently. On more than one occasion, she described it as the road to "overing" things; one where doubts, what-ifs, regrets, and memories ran rampant. Generally Catherine would coax him out since dwelling on the past was bad medicine for anybody. The situation was always the same: he would fall silent while thinking, she would give him a few moments, and then force his attention elsewhere.  
  
Tonight was no different. It is nice to know that no matte what changes, the important things remain the same.  
  
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He was doing it again - over thinking, overanalyzing, over-whatever. It irritated her to no end. One would think that by now he would remember to keep away from retreating from reality. It was time to pull him back, maybe make him use his heart.  
  
"Hey, Gil. Did I tell you what Lindsey said about our last trip to the lake?"  
  
She never felt remorse from startling him out of his reveries. He needed jolts, but what was that smile? Again, Catherine found herself wanting to give almost anything to be privy to his thoughts, which currently were amused at her predictability to him.  
  
"I hope she enjoyed himself." He turned toward his companion with concerned eyes.  
  
With a broad smile meant to ease, Catherine replied, "Absolutely. In fact, she wants to do it again. You know, make it a weekly thing. She asked me to work my best intimidating tactics to bully you."  
  
"Really? Why?" Surprise was etched all over Grissom's features. For the life of him, he could not understand.  
  
Catherine could not help but grin. His current expression was completely priceless. If only she had a camera.  
  
She stood and walked around the counter to stand on his left. She watched the surprise turn into a confused wariness. She did not want to miss this; she needed to know if she was right.  
  
"She said you make me happy and that makes her happy. She said that having you around made her feel safe. She said that sometimes she wished you were always around." Pause. "I found myself agreeing with her."  
  
It took a full minute for the implications to sink in. Then his mind completely stopped working while his heart was beating so fast he thought it was going to make an early exit on him. Unbeknownst to him, he had dropped the utensil he was using and had become caught in Catherine's gaze.  
  
"What are you thinking, Gil? Tell me; we've never hid our thoughts from each other."  
  
True. His poor muddled self tried to force himself to speak: "I - I don't know. It seems my mind has - has - has - just gone."  
  
Catherine seemed unsure; was she forcing Gil into something for which he was not ready? He blinked once, an almost comical action had the situation not been life altering.  
  
"But my heart is scared, Cath. I don't know if I could tell you the truth." Deep breath. "But you deserve to know and you have the right to know." Deep breath. "It'll be easier to lie to you, as ironic as that is, because at least you won't have taken my heart."  
  
There. That was as close as he could go. He could not lie to her, and that was the closest he could come to the truth. It was enough. Tears sprang into his best friend's eyes as she closed the tiny distance between them. The embrace drained the tension out of his body and his errant mind started up again. His shocked body instinctively tried to comfort Catherine the best it could.  
  
Into Gil's ear, Catherine whispered, "I kept telling myself that best friends don't really make a good couple. They know too much about each other. It couldn't really work. That didn't stop me from falling in love with you somewhere along the way. But Eddie was there. It's wrong of me to think this - I'm grateful now that I've finally divorced him. I thought that maybe to have our friendship was better, to have things the way they were. I know that we've changed too much, so now I want - it all - I can't help myself."  
  
She buried her face into his shoulder as she felt his arms tighten around her body. As cliché as it sounds, she really did feel like she was coming home.  
  
His quiet voice easily caught her attention as he gently cited: "And sometimes, best friends do make the best lovers. I'm willing to try if you'll put up with me. I'm in love with you, too, Cath."  
  
He loosened his hold on Catherine so he could look at the face he loved from afar for so long. Catherine's natural self-confidence resurfaced with the full-grown grin. Their minds decided to work in tandem at that instant and their eyes closed while their lips met in a gentle kiss full of avowed promises.  
  
Ending the kiss, Grissom buried his face in Catherine's hair. It was yet too soon for a lot of things, but this moment was far late in coming. The time would come when he would show his lover for his best friend. Eventually, he might be able to admit to the headiness of the moment. For now, it was enough to savor the moment and to say the words aloud. 


End file.
